Bob Dole was never one to surround himself with advisers. But
now? They've got him surrounded

By Michael Duffy/Washington

(TIME, March 25) -- In the moments that have mattered most in Bob Dole's life, he has found himself alone. He was alone when he charged up a rocky
hill to a German machine-gun nest, to be torn apart by an
artillery shell. That experience took him to places where no one
could help him. The surgeons could do only so much. His mother,
who would have done anything for him, couldn't do anything when
she came upon him hanging from the rafters of their garage by
his shattered arm, trying to make it work again.

Twice before he has lost his party's nomination, and now that he
is finally on the verge of clinching it, he finds himself again
alone in a place he has never been before: in the finals, facing
a formidable incumbent President. The new experience has left
the Candidate of Experience "somewhat off balance," says a top
aide, a little unsure of his next move. So early next month Dole
is going to take a week off, fly to Florida, sit in the sun
outside his condominium and then gather around him a group of
wise men and women to think through the campaign. Just holding
such a meeting is unusual for Dole, who has never been quick to
seek or take advice. "He has no peers,'' says a top aide. "He
has colleagues; he has friends. But all his real peers are dead.
He's outlived them all."

Dole has captured one of politics' greatest prizes without one
of the most important ingredients of any successful campaign: a
tight circle of trusted advisers who can tell him when he's
right, when he's wrong and when he needs to shape up. Dole
simply believes he knows more about politics than anyone else.
The last man whose advice he wholly trusted was Richard Nixon.
"That was the only time I ever saw him sit up and sit still for
more than 10 minutes and listen," said Tom Korologos, describing
a trip the two men made to the sage of Saddle River a few years
back. Otherwise, Dole has preferred to keep his own counsel and
even make fun of anyone who tries to change him. When an aide
recently gave him an advance text of a speech, the candidate
quipped with trademark sarcasm, "Let me show this to my council
of advisers." He pushes back when pushed too hard. When Senator
Al D'Amato of New York urged Dole two weeks ago to attend a
debate before the Texas primary--"You gotta go," D'Amato said,
"you gotta go"--Dole teased, "Well, if you want me to, I won't."

After 35 years in Washington, Dole has an astonishingly small
circle. He has a coterie of old friends, including Democratic
Party viceroy Bob Strauss and Archer Daniels Midland Co.
chairman Dwayne Andreas, but he does not seek their counsel.
Other than his wife Elizabeth, who is an ad hoc adviser on
nearly everything, Dole's inner circle is made up of Senators
Pete Domenici of New Mexico, John McCain of Arizona and Bob
Bennett of Utah, and even they say they are not sure what he
absorbs. He taps experts on specific policy matters when he
needs them--including his chief of staff, Sheila Burke, and
adviser Robert Lighthizer--but does most of the political
thinking himself.

Whether or not he goes looking for advice, advisers come looking
for him. Two weeks ago, a group of Senators approached Dole and
urged him to use them regularly as sounding boards. A few days
later, they faxed talking points on trade and other matters to
his campaign plane; Dole surprised them by using the material.
Meanwhile, campaign manager Scott Reed has reached out to a
group of elected officials, from House Speaker Newt Gingrich to
New Hampshire Governor Steve Merrill, to help Dole sharpen his
message.

People who aspire to counsel him have learned they must do it
obliquely. Before the South Carolina debate in February, McCain
urged Dole to smile more, and like a high school drama coach, he
planted himself in the front row and smiled widely through the
entire forum. Two weeks ago, Dole was diluting the emotional
high point of his speech--his painful convalescence--by rambling
on about other things, like Bosnia. Utah's Bennett, who was
traveling with Dole, waited a few hours after one run-on speech
and then pulled Dole aside in a relaxed moment. "When you've
told the story of Russell," said Bennett, "the speech is over.
That's it." At the next event, Dole brought the room to a hush
with the story of his recovery; he was clearly "aching" to go
on, recalls Bennett, but closed quickly with "God bless America."

Members of Dole's inner circle don't know if any of this advice
will stick. When he returned to the Senate Wednesday morning,
dozens of his colleagues were waiting outside his office with
ideas about how to beat Bill Clinton. They grabbed him in the
halls and cornered him at lunch and handed him notes, so that by
afternoon he had to flee the building for a little peace. But if
he doesn't always heed would-be advisers, Dole at least
remembers what they say: it's a skill he learned long ago, by
himself, when he couldn't write things down.